


gave you my time

by ToAStranger



Series: Luster [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, Werewolf Courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 04:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let the battle begin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gave you my time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nezstorm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nezstorm/gifts).



> Prompt: Hm, hmm. Deucalion could maybe give Stiles a few leather bound old spell books or bestiaries to aid his emissary training. And I guess Peter would be the one to know Stiles better, obviously, so maybe he'd steal Stiles' Jeep for a day or two and get it all fixed up? But for unreasonable gifts maybe an actual new Jeep from one of them and some pretty shady potion ingredients from the other one? I'm sorry, I've been awake pretty much all night so I'm not very creative with this.

When Stiles comes down stairs, Deucalion is having tea with his father.   _Deucalion is having tea with his father_. 

“What the fuck—?”  Stiles nearly trips over the last step. 

“Language, young man.”  His dad frowns over his shoulder at him, and Stiles catches the sight of a gun on the table, so at least there’s that.  "I was just chatting with your friend.“ 

“ _Not_  my friend.”  Stiles huffs out an uneasy laugh as he pins Deucalion with a glare.  ”But I know him.” 

"I’m very aware of that, yes.”  John mutters dryly.  "He was just telling me about your new courtship.“ 

"I’m afraid it’s part of the traditions, asking an elder or guardian’s permission.”  Deucalion states apologetically, but there’s the ghost of a smile on his lips that says he’s not all that sorry at all.  "Not to mention the fact that it will make it easier to explain if you’re seen out and about on mine or Peter’s arm.“ 

"Two suitors, Stiles.”  John remarks, and Stiles bites the inside of his cheek when he sees his father fighting a smile of his own.  "Really, I’m impressed.“ 

”I was just as surprised as you are.”  Stiles grouses, stomping over to the coffee pot with a determined look on his face. 

After pouring himself a cup, he practically chugs it down.  He all but slams the mug on the counter top when he’s done, turning to give Deucalion a dark look as he gestures to the front door with a jerk of his head.  The Sheriff is still hiding his smile— or trying to and failing. 

"Outside.  Now." 

"Of course,” Deucalion stands smoothly and heads out the door.  

“Do we need to have the talk, Stiles?”  John asks, and Stiles chucks the hand towel on the counter at him.  "Okay, alright.  Go talk to your  _boyfriend_.” 

“Dad, he is  _not_ —” 

"I know,” Johns laughs and gives Stiles a crooked but tired smile.  "But you’re not the only one who uses joking as a coping mechanism, Stiles.  That man has to be twice your age.  And Peter Hale is nearly that.“ 

"I know.”  Stiles sighs.  "I know it’s—" 

“Crazy?" 

"Yes.”  Stiles nods, walking over to grip at his father’s shoulder.  "Crazy, but not illegal.  And not any crazier than dealing with supernatural creatures on a daily basis.“ 

John’s jaw clenches for a moment, but he nods.  ”I understand that.  But that man, Deucalion, he said you had to agree to this all.  Which is probably the part that has me tripping over this in my mind.  That and the fact that two grown men are  _courting_  my  _eighteen year old son_.” 

Stiles winces.  ”I know.  I know how it sounds.  I know how it looks, but… but I figured it might be easier than the mess they’d make otherwise.”

John’s frown just deepens.  ”So you’re putting yourself on the line in order to keep them from causing other kinds of trouble?  How does that make sense, Stiles?  How is that  _smart_?” 

"It isn’t.”  Stiles shrugs.  "But they won’t hurt me, dad.  You have to know that.  Or— Or at least know that Peter won’t.  And Peter won’t let Deucalion do anything, either.  And—" 

“And your best friend is an Alpha.”  John finishes with a nod.  "I know.“

John licks his lips and runs a hand over his face.  Stiles leans against the table and waits. 

"I don’t like it.  But I know you’ll do whatever it is you think is best.  At least this time you might keep me in the loop?”  John gives him a dry but expectant look.  

Stiles nods, leaning down to press a kiss to his father’s forehead.  ”Of course, dad.  Of course I will.” 

John sighs and nods again.  ”Alright.  Go on.  Heard something about a courting gift.  You might as well enjoy it while it lasts.” 

Stiles laughs and moves away, heading towards the door.  When he walks out and spots the lavish car sitting against the curb, Stiles feels punched.  

Deucalion gives him a broad smile, tapping gently on the metal of the hood.  It’s sleek, brand new.  A goddamn  _Mercedes._ For a moment Stiles thinks he might faint.  

“No.”  He says instead, shaking his head.  "No, absolutely not.“ 

Deucalion frowns even as Stiles comes over, staring at the car with nothing but  _want_ , hands twitching at his sides.  ”You said hot cars.” 

"I didn’t think— Do you know how expensive this is?”  Stiles rasps, and he holds a hand out, fingers dancing slightly as they hover over the shimmering grey of it.  

“Yes.  I paid for it after all.”  Deucalion says, watching him take in the car.  "Do you not like it?“ 

“ _Dude_ ,” Stiles replies, a bit strained.  

"You can touch it, Xenyck.”  Deucalion mutters, voice soft, and Stiles looks up at him sharply, finding him close and warm at his side.  "It’s yours.“ 

"I can’t—" 

"Nonsense.”  Deucalion tsks, reaching out and placing a gentle hand over Stiles’, guiding it to the hood of the car.  "See?  One touch won’t break it.  It’s yours, Stiles.“ 

"I really—” Stiles’ voice breaks, and he clears his throat.  "I really can’t accept this.“ 

"Why not?”

“It’s— It’s too much." 

"I’m proving—" 

"That you can provide for me, I know.  But I can’t accept this.  I’m sorry.”  Stiles looks away from the car again, meeting his gaze, and he feels Deucalion’s hand tighten over his in a way that, for a brief moment, makes him feel fear.  

“That’s… That’s quite alright, Xenyck.”  Deucalion says and then hesitates before pulling away.  "I suppose I’ve overstepped my bounds with this gift.“ 

"Yeah,” Stiles croaks, and he misses the heat of Deucalion pressed to him with such severity that it’s frightening.  Stiles just chalks it up to being attention starved.  He’d been the same way when Peter had taken him out to dinner three nights previous.  "Think um… Think smaller next time.“ 

The answer seems to break some of the tension, and Deucalion smiles brightly.  

"I will.”  He promises, and words seem to stick in his mouth for a moment until he squares himself with Stiles.  "Xenyck—" 

“You really should stop calling me that, too.  Nobody calls me that—" 

"Stiles, then.”  Deucalion amends.  "Stiles, I was wondering if you’d permit me to kiss you.“ 

"Kiss me?”

“Yes.  I’m aware it might be a little on the early side of things, but I’d like to.”  

“Um… Um, sure.  I mean, I guess.  Just a kiss, right?”  Stiles mutters, shifting from foot to foot, and he stills as Deucalion places his hands on his shoulders.  

Stiles inhales tightly as Deucalion leans in.  His eyes flutter shut, and he can hear his pulse rushing in his ears.  Lips press to his cheek, and Stiles’ lips part as Deucalion lingers.  

He waits for something more, and when it doesn’t come, when Deucalion pulls away, Stiles opens his eyes and looks at the older man with nothing but confusion.  

“What—?" 

"Thank you, Stiles.”  Deucalion says, moving around the car to the driverside door.  "I’ll see you soon.“

"Wait, what?”  Stiles throws his arms up, expression aghast.  "That’s it?“ 

"Yes.  For now.  I’ve got a car to return.  Soon, Stiles." 

And then Deucalion climbs into the Mercedes and drives away.  Stiles never gets to see the inside of it, and he almost hates himself a little bit. 

* * *

"I turned down an SLS." 

Scott huffs out a laugh.  ”You’ve said that ten times.” 

"I turned it down." 

"Uh huh.  Why did you do that, again?”  Scott asks.  

“Because I’m  _stupid_!” Stiles groans, rolling over to bury his face against the couch cushion.  

"There, there.”  Scott says condescendingly, patting him on the shoulder.  "Maybe next time he’ll give you a Ferrari.“ 

"You think?”  Stiles asks, head popping up, and there’s a snort from the archway that leads from the living room to the kitchen.  Stiles peeks up over the edge of the couch, and glares at where Peter is grinning at him.  "You’re early.“ 

"And you’re delusional.”  Peter replies with a smile.  "Are you ready?“ 

“ _Stiles_ ,” Scott practically whines.  ”Middle of a movie, man.” 

"Oh, like you haven’t bailed on me for Allison or Kira more than once or twice.”  Stiles grumbles in reply, pushing himself up off of the couch and towards where Peter is standing.  "Come on, old man, let’s get this freak show on the road.“ 

Peter makes a face, like he’s hurt, but there’s that glint in his eyes.  ”I’m insulted, Stiles, really.” 

"No you’re not." 

"Yeah, you’re right, I’m not.”  Peter replies, lips curling into an easy grin.  "Come on.  I’ve got a surprise for you.“ 

"I don’t like you breaking into my house!” Scott calls after them as they head for the front door.  

Peter ignores him; Stiles bites back his laugh.  

Outside, Peter grips Stiles’ wrist and pulls him over to his Jeep.  Pausing in front of it, he gives Stiles an expectant look.  

“Your surprise is my car?”

“Open the door, Stiles." 

Stiles’ eyes widen faintly, and he scrambles to get his car unlocked for a moment.   _Not my baby_. 

At the sight of a brand new tricked out stereo system, Stiles stalls.  ”What did you do to Roscoe?” 

"New sound system.  Thought you might be tired of listening to the same 8 tracks over and over.”  

“Does it— Does it still play 8 tracks?”  Stiles asks, voice breaking slightly. 

“Yes.  If you want it to.”  

Stiles lets out a breath of relief.  ”Thank fuck.” 

Peter frowns and tilts his head.  ”Why is that important, Stiles?” 

“Oh,” Stiles looks over at him, blinking a few times.  "It’s um… the cassettes were my moms.  Before she died.“ 

Peter frowns.  ”I’m sorry.  I should have asked first.  Next time, I’ll be more careful.” 

Stiles’ nose wrinkles.  ”Oh, god.  Never apologize to me again, this is way too weird.” 

"Stiles,” Peter laughs, moving in close.  "This isn’t a one way street.  Courtship is about getting to know one another.  As I get to know you, you get to know me.  The same goes with Deucalion.“ 

"Quid pro quo, Doctor Lector?" 

Peter reaches up, curving a hand against the side of Stiles’ throat, and Stiles’ pulse leaps for a moment.  ”Something like that.” 

"Don’t we have a movie to be getting to?" 

"I showed up early for a reason, Stiles.”  Peter tells him, almost condescendingly, and Stiles snorts even as Peter crowds him against the side of his car, right by the open door.  "Deucalion told me how things went.“ 

"You guys talk?" 

"It’s just part—" 

"Of the tradition, yeah, I’m getting that.  Did you have a sit down with my dad, too?" 

"He was very elaborate with his threats." 

Stiles grins, lopsided and warm.  ”He’s the best dad ever.” 

"He’s certainly got a colorful imagination.”  Peter mutters.  "But that’s not the point, Stiles.“ 

"What is?" 

"That apparently I’m already behind in the race.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, and even though Peter is caging him in— a hand pressed beside Stiles’ head, his body nearly flush with Stiles’, and his fingers drifting around to the nape of Stiles’ neck-- his tone is dry.  ”A kiss on the cheek is really pulling ahead, too.” He mutters.  

“You accepted a token of physical affection despite the fact that you didn’t accept his gift.  It’s a very big deal.”  Peter says, voice low, like a promise.  "But you’ve accepted my gift… now the question is: will you accept physical affection?“

"Depends,” Stiles mumbles, gaze straying down to Peter’s mouth and then back up to eyes that shift to a dangerous blue— Stiles finds it comforting.  "What exactly are you planning to offer?“

Peter hums, and even thought their chests aren’t quite touching, Stiles feels the vibrations of it.  ”I’ve always been a little better at show, not tell.”

"Then show me.”

Peter doesn’t hesitate.  His lips are insistent but gentle against Stiles’.  It isn’t deep, not hungry or rough like Stiles had expected (and, secretly, hoped), but it is lingering.  Like Peter is savoring the feel of Stiles’ mouth beneath his.  

They break apart a moment later.  Stiles feels breathless, but he isn’t panting, and Peter grins crookedly at him— all teeth, in the best of ways— as his thumb brushes a soft spot under Stiles’ ear.  It earns him a shiver.

“We have a movie to catch, don’t we?”  

Stiles swallows thickly and nods.  ”Yeah.  Yeah, we do.”

“Get in the car and drive, then.”  Peter tells him, and then pulls away, rounding the Jeep and going for the passenger seat.  "We don’t want to be late, do we?“

"Right, no.  Right.”  Stiles stammers for a moment, hesitates, and then climbs into the driver’s seat.

If Peter places a hand on his thigh during the movie and Stiles doesn’t push it away, well… that’s something only they need to know.

* * *

Apparently it’s not something only they need to know.  Because Deucalion shows up at the cafe Stiles is researching at with a determined expression on his face, and Stiles just  _knows_  that Peter has been bragging. 

That son of a bitch.

Deucalion strides over with purpose, sets the satchel on the table and takes the seat across from him.  ”Good morning, Xenyck.”

“Seriously, man, you  _have_  to stop calling me that.” 

"Peter tells me you had a successful night?”

“You guys aren’t going to start getting, like, creepy about this, are you?”  Stiles asks with a frown, sitting up straighter in his chair.  "Well… creepier?“

Deucalion ignores the question and instead focuses on the bag he’s set between them on the table.  Digging around inside of it, he pulls out three thick tomes.  They smell musty and feel like magic.  Stiles’ palms itch.  

He looks down at them with wide eyes for a moment.  Then up at Deucalion.  

"What—”

“Gifts.”  Deucalion states.  "To aide you in your training.“

"Deucalion.  Oh, my—” Stiles’ voice breaks, and he pulls one to him excitedly.  "Oh, my  _god_.” 

“So you like them?”

“Yes.”

“And you accept my gift?”

“ _Abso-fucking-lutely_.” 

“Good,” Deucalion says, and he seems to breathe out his relief.  

Stiles just smiles over at him.  ”Thank you.  Thank you so much.”  

“You’re very welcome, Xenyck.”  Deucalion replies, and he reaches out to place his hand over Stiles’.  Stiles stills, but doesn’t look uncomfortable.  Just questioning.  "I’d like to sit here with you for a while.“ 

Stiles stares at him for a long moment, and then nods.  ”Okay.  I’d like that.” 

So he sits there.  Reading through old texts about ceremonies he hadn’t yet heard of, with an Alpha werewolf who is courting him watching idly and contently the entire time, all the while the other werewolf who is courting him is sending him sparse texts.  

Fuck his life is weird.  


End file.
